


Got a Taste of the Cherry

by JasnNCarly



Series: Jon Moxley (Dean Ambrose) & You [21]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Tumblr, greygirlmoxley, wwe imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasnNCarly/pseuds/JasnNCarly
Summary: Distractions, distractions





	Got a Taste of the Cherry

“We can’t. We can’t.” You open the door and force him off of you, “We’ve got to hang out with our friends and stop living like vampires when you’re in town, just sucking each other off and hiding ourselves—” You stop, turning around after you’ve locked the door to see an appalled neighbor passing.

“In each other. I get it.” Dean finishes your sentence, despite your blush, placing his hands on the door on either side of you, “We can’t reschedule for tomorrow so I can enjoy my first night back with you?”

“No, we are going.” You push past him, yelping when he smacks your ass a little too hard, and try to keep your goal in mind as you head out to the car. Dean gets into the driver seat, shaking his head, while you slide into the passenger’s side, “All you gotta do is make it through a dinner and some drinks; we’ll come home and do anything you want.”

Dean begins the drive to the restaurant, sighing, “What you’re not taking into account is what you’re wearing…how am I supposed to act normal?”

You were wearing a black jersey knit dress with white vertical lines, the sleeves a little longer than your elbows; it reached just above your knees, and it covers your cleavage because you know how distracting it can be to him. You mess with your hair, running a hand into the left side of your tresses and pulling them to the right side, “Babe, I tried my best to look unfuckable to you. I don’t know what else to do.”

He smirks at this, stopping at a red light, and looks over at you, “The problem is I find you so fuckable that it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.” Taking a hand away from the steering wheel, he slides a hand just underneath the hem of your dress and massages your inner thigh, “I’m always gonna want to be buried inside of you.”

 _Fuck_. His touch has the power to control your blood flow, immediately letting out an involuntary breath in reaction.

Dean’s smirk deepens, dimples to further persuade you, as he continues to massage you, even as the light turns green. His focus seems to sharpen when his hands moves further up and his fingers begin to massage that sacred spot he speaks of. You moan involuntarily, tilting your head back, and try to bring your thighs to a tight press together.

He waits for another red light, leaning over to kiss the side of your throat then nips at your earlobe, “No, you don’t. You’re gonna help me to prove a point.”

“What’s that?” The question is shaky as you feel your breath beginning to form sharp pants, reacting to his expert touch.

“Maybe we should’ve handled some business at the apartment before going to dinner.” Dean stops his kisses, returning his eyes to the road, but pushes your panties aside to slip his fingers into your wet, warm opening, “Damn…”

He groans, slightly shifting in his seat at the feeling of you as he begins to pump his fingers into you; you let out a loud sound, struck by the sensation, and force his hand away from you, commanding him softly, “Find a spot, please.”

The order is not unfamiliar to him, so he quickly takes a left turn in search; you are almost ashamed that you gave in so easily, but he is the worst addiction you’ve ever had – it is never enough and you are always chasing the high.

As Dean pulls off road, you undo your seat belt and start a gentle massage of your own, creating friction against his restrained length. Kissing and biting at his neck, you smile as you recognize the trail he is near. Hiding the car in the trees, he parks and shuts down the car.

His rough voice gives you a lustful demand, “Come here.”

You do as your told, hiking up your skirt as he frees himself and slides his jeans as well as boxers to his knees. Swinging a leg, you straddle him in the driver’s seat and smile down at him, “You always have to get your way, don’t you?”

“(Y/N), I’m begging you at this point…” His hands slide up your back and into your long hair, “Please, just…”

Kissing him before he can finish his sentence, you position him at your entrance, sliding down onto him and savoring his satisfied groan. You wonder briefly if you will both find a way to look presentable or if your friends will disown you all together tonight.


End file.
